Thirty Candles
by Mindy35
Summary: KIBBS. All Kate wants for her birthday is a Silver Haired Fox.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Thirty Candles

Author: Mindy

Rating: K.

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Lyrics are by Sarah MacLachlan.

Spoilers: nope.

Summary: KIBBS. All Kate wants for her birthday is Gibbs.

* * *

"…_the world around us disappears,_

_just you and me on this island of hope,_

_a breath between us could be miles,_

_let me surround you, my sea to your shore,_

_let me be the calm you seek._

_And every time I'm close to you,_

_there's too much I can't say,_

_and you just walk away._

_And I forgot to tell you I love you. _

_And the night's too long and cold here without you. _

_I grieve in my condition _

_for I cannot find the words to say _

_I need you so bad…."_

_-x-x-x-_

_Part I_

She feels sick. Adjusting the crepe paper crown Abby put on her earlier in the evening, she grabs another handful of M and M's. Her head spins slightly as she washes them down with the cheap bubbly, to join the combination of sugar and alcohol already swirling in her gut.

Usually, Kate likes birthdays. She likes getting together with family and friends. She likes presents and cake and champagne. And she's never been one to let pass a chance to dress up and party.

But on the night before her thirtieth birthday, she's not feeling quite so festive.

Ever since she hit twenty-five, this date has been looming large in the back of her mind. All her friends, who have long since passed the milestone have been teasing her ruthlessly in the buildup to the inescapable day. Her mother has been at her more than ever about settling down, getting married, getting a real job and having children. And once Tony found out, by snooping around her PDA again, she knew word would be all over the office.

It was him and Abby that had the idea of throwing her this little post-work, pre-birthday bash. Frankly, she thinks Tony's motives were far more concerned with the beautiful, new Agent White who he'd been hitting on unsuccessfully for over two weeks.

She yanks the crown off her head as a fresh round of hiccups shake her tipsy frame. Ripping idly at the edges of the purple crepe paper, she casts her eye about the noisy, dim joint swarming with inebriated NCIS agents.

Tony is doing his best to entertain the impassive Ms White over by the bar, while Abby dances with at least three men at once on the packed dance floor. McGee is dancing not far from her and not very well, with a woman twice his age as he casts jealous looks at the smiling Goth every few minutes. She's lost track of Ducky, who always drinks far too much at these things and Gibbs hasn't even shown.

Kate turns back to her glass, reaching for the nearly empty champagne bottle. Her boss has been on her mind more than usual recently. Perhaps it's her impending birthday or the unsurprising breakup with Charlie last week. Perhaps it was the accumulated effect of working with the man known as the Silver-Haired Fox for nearly three years now. It seemed like _much_ longer.

He's still the most fascinating man she's ever encountered. She's had more than a few sleepless nights of late, running through their history in her head. It still confuses her, frustrates her.

She knows herself well enough to recognize that she has entertained feelings for her enigmatic boss beyond the professional. For the first year she worked for him, the smallest smile from him, the quickest look, the most insignificant hint could make her heart skip for days on end. She would check her hair and her lipstick constantly throughout the day, watch him obsessively from the corner of her eye.

Everything she did, wore, said, and even drank, she wondered about his opinion. His approval became her highest achievement, his regard her most prized possession.

But the excitement and the expectation soon wore off. He was a workhorse, she soon discovered; his personality a top-secret mystery -- and he liked it that way. There was not room in his life for anything more. He was too tough a nut to crack and she wearied of trying.

As her boss, he seemed perfectly satisfied with her work and put great faith in her as an agent. So eventually, she stopped hoping for more from him than that. Ruefully, she put her hidden feelings down to infatuation, dismissed her fragile hopes as wishful thinking, and ordered herself to get over it.

Yet, even now, whenever her mother or her friends needle her about her single status or the pathetic state of her love life, it's always Jethro Gibbs who instantly pops into her head, unmeditated and unbidden.

She's had her share of infatuations, and knows that what she feels for him is much deeper, more profound. She has tried to dissuade herself of her own feelings. She has tried countless times to convince her heart that if Gibbs were allowed into her personal life he would make a total mess of it – and, no doubt, of _her_.

Each attractive, new face asking her to dinner or a movie used to give her fresh hope. But despite the countless men she has dated since meeting Jethro Gibbs, none of them have been able to banish from her mind the man who she wants most of all.

None of them have ever compared. None even came close to comparing.

The other night, lying alone in her bed, she decided to take action. She decided to seduce Gibbs.

In the safe duskiness of her room at three o'clock in the morning, it really hadn't seemed like such a daunting task. And it had certainly been a pleasant diversion from obsessing about her advancing age.

But when contemplating the actual logistics of carrying out her objective, it appeared close to impossible.

She immediately ruled out seducing him at work. That would just be unprofessional. Not to mention risky with DiNozzo lurking around every corner, gathering blackmail material on her. And she couldn't imagine that Gibbs would actually go for it, in his sacred den of drudgery.

Any kind of vehicle was also dismissed as a possible location for her inveiglement. With the way he drove, that was possibly life threatening.

She fell asleep still trying to figure out how she could get close enough to her boss to work some magic on him, knowing fully that even if she did, embarrassment, anticipation and temptation would sabotage her every effort completely.

The next day at work, she'd met his oblivious gaze with hesitation and heartache. And for the hundredth time that month, she'd pacified her wounded heart with disconsolate truths and halfhearted rationale.

She needed to get over him, she told herself, she needed to take the hint. Gibbs didn't see her that way. If something were meant to happen, surely it would've happened by now.

And for the hundredth time that month, she swore off her obsession with Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

She raises her head listlessly and sees Abby beckoning her to the dance floor. She bobs about eagerly and gestures to all the good-looking men surrounding her, begging for her attention. Kate's not in the mood to flirt though or be in the limelight. She smiles at her friend then sighs and resumes her contemplation.

She feels a strange and urgent need to be absolutely honest with herself tonight. This is not the life she always envisaged for herself.

Not that she's desperately unhappy.

After all, she loves her job, she loves her friends and colleagues, she gets asked out fairly regularly by decent guys, she eats right, drinks very little, works out as much as possible and just bought herself a new Prada purse.

There is nothing really for her to be upset or disappointed about. When she looks at herself in the mirror, she sees a healthy, attractive, successful, energetic, satisfied woman starring back at her. But satisfied isn't the same as fulfilled. Successful isn't the same as happy.

Something is missing and it's about time she 'fessed up about it – if only to herself.

Looking back over her life, she realizes with shock and dismay, that she has never really been in love. She has never actually been in a relationship with a man, where she could honestly say she loved him and he loved her back. That simple, blissful experience has eluded her for her entire life.

The persistent outward prompting of her friends and family only serves to fuel the inward prompting of her own secret fears and desires, intensifying the growing question mark that hangs silently over her head.

She wonders whether the ultimate fault is with her -- if something is wrong with her choices, how she functions. Maybe, as her mother tells her, she simply does not put in the proper amount of effort in order to make her dreams come true.

However, despite her sound practicality, Kate is a woman of a more sensitive sensibility. Though she would probably never admit it aloud, she still believes in the myth of love at first sight. She still believes in one man for one woman. She believes in magic, in fate, in serendipity, in soul mates, in miracles that come out of the blue and in once in a lifetime opportunities.

She still believes her special someone is out there somewhere -- looking and hoping and waiting for her just as vigilantly as she does for him. And that it would only take the tiniest gesture for her to recognize that he was The One for her, for the rest of her life.

_TBC…_


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Thirty Candles

Author: Mindy

_Part II_

-x-x-x-

"So, whad I miss?"

Startled from of her reverie, Kate looks up abruptly to see Gibbs pulling up a chair next to her. He lets out a sigh as he sits down, tugging at his jacket and casting a cool eye around at the shadowy bar and the band of usually orderly agents busy drinking and partying.

"Uh…" she waves a hand at the colorful mess decking the table in front of her: "dinner, cake, drinks, presents," she replies, rather offended by his carelessly overdue arrival: "Pretty much everything," she shrugs, not looking at him.

"Well," he replies lightly, leaning back comfortably and stretching his arm out over the back of her chair: "at least I got here in time to see DiNozzo strike out."

Kate follows his gaze to the bar just in time to see Tony score the big finish of an outraged lecture and a swift, hard slap on the cheek from the blonde and beautiful Agent White. She turns on her heel, grabs her bag and stalks out the door, leaving the dazed lothario slumped against the bar, holding his cheek and suffering the amused sniggers of everyone in the room.

Kate can't help a faint flicker of sadistic amusement, rolling her eyes and ducking her head, a dry smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

Gibbs leans in close and murmurs teasingly: "That's better..."

She peers up at him, her smile faltering but not disappearing. His blue eyes sparkle with satisfaction at her reluctant smile and his gaze drifts over her face for a moment before he leans back in his chair, retreating from her personal space.

Neither speaks for a long moment. She can sense him sneaking a curious glance or two in her direction as they sit surrounded by laughter and music and dancing. He picks up a piece of bread from the table and munches on it casually.

"You don't look too happy," he notes, cautiously: "for the guest of honor."

He turns and looks at her expectantly and Kate lifts her heavy head to look him in the eye again. Her eyelashes fall languidly as she stares up at him, trying desperately to not appear too drunk or depressed. He's sitting very close and with her head swirling due to anxiety and alcohol, all she wants to do is bury her face in his shoulder and pass out. His arm draped about her feels warm and comforting and she could drown in the rough, low tones of his voice.

"What's wrong?" he asks, dipping his head a little closer and watching her steadily.

He leans closer and raises his voice so she can hear above the encircling din but it only makes her dizzier. She averts her eyes and bows her head, feeling scrutinized and cornered. She starts fiddling with the presents that she received from her friends. She flicks through the book from Palmer. She smells the homemade soaps from Abby, holding them to her nose one at a time.

"What makes you think," she answers, attempting to be aloof: "anything's wrong?"

The arm resting on the back of her chair reaches out and his hand clasps her shoulder, pulling her back into her seat gently but firmly. She slumps back in her chair with no resistance, staring at her lap and the soap she holds in her hands and feeling the sudden urge to cry.

"Your face," Gibbs answers quietly, his breath grazing her cheek as he speaks.

"I'm…" she huffs reluctantly, glancing up at him briefly. She shakes her head a little, swallowing her silly emotion. "I'm _thirty_, Gibbs," she sighs despondently: "_Thirty_."

"Yeah…" he nods calmly. He bends down and picks up her crumpled crepe paper crown from where it has fallen at her feet. He looks at it with a little smile then shows it to her, the numbers 3 and 0 emblazoned on it in big gold figures. "Gathered that," he murmurs, slipping it on her head again and positioning it so it doesn't fall down over her eyes.

She furrows her brow as she gazes at him. He returns to his position, his arm slung over her chair, his eyes drifting aimlessly over the boisterous throng. She goes back smelling her soaps and sorting through her gifts idly. Some of them are very nice, in fact, she muses, examining the candlesticks from McGee.

"God, soon I'll be…" she mutters under her breath, her mind wandering as she squints at the bizarre box from Ducky: "Soon I'll be as old as _you_…"

She hears Gibbs chuckle behind her and mutter lowly: "Not soon enough, I'm afraid."

She blinks blankly through her queasy confusion then turns slowly to look at him, a question in her eyes. Gibbs shifts slightly in his seat and stares back at her for a heart-stopping moment.

Then he removes his gaze to the pile of gifts scattered over the table amid ripped wrapping paper and discarded ribbon.

"I didn't get you anything…" he mumbles hesitantly, nodding at the array.

She smiles and leans back into his arm again, quietly relishing the meager contact: "S'okay, Gibbs."

"I didn't forget…" he adds with a vague shrug: "I just…"

She shakes her head and looks away. "I really didn't expect anything," she tells him softly.

"I could take care of all this," he offers, indicating the meal he missed and empty bottles of champagne: "If you want…"

She looks at the bottles, and the leftover bread, then she looks at her lap, gnawing at her lips. Then she takes a deep breath, summons up her shaky nerves and looks back at her boss.

"Actually," she murmurs smoothly: "…I have a better idea."

Rising slowly on slightly unsteady legs, she slips the paper crown off her head and turns to face him. Looking down at him and masking her trepidation, she extends her hand.

"One dance," she says, her eyes steady on his.

Gibbs chuckles, surprised, and holds up a hand. "I don't dance," he declines resolutely.

"I'll lead," she persists unwaveringly, still holding out her hand: "I'll consider it my present." She tips up her head, her eyes flashing with challenge and desire.

She glances towards the dance floor, which has emptied a little since the music mellowed. It now holds only a few couples, grasping each other in a slow dance to a sensuous, soulful tune. Gibbs turns and looks at the entangled pairs as well then slowly turns back to face her.

"Ugh, Katie…" he exhales reluctantly, bowing and shaking his head. "Why don't you ask Tony or Ducky…?" he mumbles, nodding vaguely towards the bar.

She takes back her hand and purses her lips, trying to not let her hurt or disappointment show. "Maybe I will," she replies coolly, searching the room for another partner.

There really isn't anyone else she wants to dance with but she doesn't intend to beg. She pretends to spot someone she likes the look of and moves to pass Gibbs, stepping over his feet.

"Well, wait--" he stops her, blocking her path with one arm outstretched, brushing against her waist. "Who're you gonna dance with…?" he questions uneasily: "Tony or Ducky?"

"Well," she muses offhandedly: "it's a toss-up. Ducky's a better dancer but Tony's had less to drink." She shrugs and continues flatly: "Still, at least with Ducky, I know he won't try to touch my ass."

She sees Gibbs' expression harden and is about to reiterate her offer when a pair of sweaty, meaty arms wrap around her neck from behind.

"Hey, Katie, babe," yells a drunken Agent Dexter right in her ear.

"Hey," she winces, disgustedly, pulling away from his obnoxious voice and his sloppy embrace.

"Birthday girl, birthday girl," he sings groggily, hugging her clumsily: "when you gonna come dance with me? I been waiting all night for you!"

Kate holds her breath, trying not to ingest the acrid smell of his breath and his sweat. "Gee, Dext," she grits, trying to twist herself out from under him: "I don't' know…"

He moves his wandering hands to her waist, gyrating behind her to the music and moaning slurrily: "C'mon, Agent Katie…"

She clenches her teeth, an angry heat rising to her cheeks. She glances at Gibbs, whose eyes are flickering dangerously, not just at the other man's scummy advances but at his casual use of the nickname that only he in the past has called her by. He gets to his feet, fixing the intoxicated man with one of his fiercest stares.

"She's with _me_," he mutters, short but grim. "_Kate,_" he growls and puts out his hand, demanding hers in return.

She places her hand in his and the other man's grip on her quickly retreats. She steps closer to Gibbs as he tugs on her hand, and looks back at the other man, his hair disheveled, his cheeks ruddy, his eyes awash with trepidation. She can't help feeling a little grateful to the tubby agent who she knows has had a crush on her for months.

"Come on," Gibbs grumbles, still staring at Agent Dexter threateningly as he places a hand at the base of her spine and ushers her away.

"Sorry Kate," Dexter offers weakly as he watches them go: "Didn't mean… Sorry Sir…"

"Don't call him 'Sir'," she whispers slyly, giving him a little wink as she follows Gibbs to the dance floor: "He doesn't like it."

_TBC…_


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Thirty Candles 

Author: Mindy

_Part III_

A new song starts, lyrical and romantic. Kate whips her head back around and bumps right into her boss, her victory smile fading. She takes a hesitant step backwards and peers up at him. He has led her to the middle of the floor and stands rigidly, holding his arms out in position, ready for her to step into.

He stares at her blankly and she lowers her eyes, swallowing as she moves closer. Very carefully, she places her right hand in his left, feeling his fingers curl warmly about hers, and slips her left arm over his tall, broad shoulder.

She keeps a respectable distance between them, a little aware of all the colleagues swarming about them -- but as she glances around, no one seems to be paying much attention to her little inveiglement. She chances a glance up at Gibbs who looks irritable and uncomfortable. He sways stiffly on his feet, holding their clasped hands close to his chest.

"You lie," she teases softly, drawing his gaze. "You can dance," she points out quietly, her eyes gleaming. He wasn't the best dancer in the world, but all he needed to do was relax. Listen to the music, go with the flow, and focus on her.

Gibbs shuffles and looks at his feet: "Haven't…done this… since," he pulls a face and glances over her head: "my last wedding." He chuffs somberly and mumbles: "And that turned out great."

She smiles up at him and shifts a little closer: "Relax, Gibbs," she urges gently.

He looks down at her and the gleam in his blue eyes gives her the courage to lean in and place her head on his chest, her cheek resting against his shirt. She feels him relax slightly in his body and the hand on her waist slithers higher up her back, his arm wrapping around her more fully. She sighs softly and lets her eyes slip shut for a minute.

"So, where's that boyfriend of yours?" Gibbs asks suddenly, clearing his throat: "Shouldn't he be here, dancing with you…?"

She opens her eyes but doesn't move her head from its cozy position: "We broke up," she replies flatly.

"Oh," he says and she can feel him nod a few times: "That's a shame."

She picks her head up off his chest and glares at him with narrowed eyes: "You hated him," she reminds him in a frank tone.

"I didn't hate him," Gibbs denies with a dismissive shake of his head, but the smug quirk at the edge of his smile tells the truth.

She lifts one eyebrow. "You called him a schmuck," she accuses stubbornly: "Twice."

Gibbs chuckles, unrepentant, and ducks his head: "You heard that, huh?"

"Yes," she retorts firmly, rolling her eyes at him but unable to stem a tiny smile: "you weren't exactly subtle about it."

"Well… you broke up," he points out, looking down at her and giving a little shrug: "which proves I was right -- he's got to be a schmuck."

She feels faintly insulted by his indifferent opinion. Somehow, she feels this is a reflection on her, on her taste, on her life. She meets his eyes and holds them for a beat. Then with a hint of challenge in her tone, she turns the spotlight on him.

"What about your friend with the flash car, Gibbs?" she inquires innocently: "Why didn't you bring her along tonight?" She watches the smug quirk appear in his smile again at her persistent gamesmanship. She smirks inwardly and, when she gets no other response from him, she continues with a cutting tone: "I would like to have met her."

"No, you wouldn't," he replies plainly, his eyes holding hers.

She looks away, knowing he is right. If Gibbs had brought a date to her birthday party, she would've been cut beyond belief. If he'd waltzed through the door tonight with that sophisticated, gorgeous, impressive woman on his arm, she knows it probably would've ruined her entire year-- and she would've had a hard time looking him in the eye, let alone forgiving him.

"We don't…" Gibbs starts, then stalls: "We don't see a lot of each other these days."

"Oh?" she inquires lightly: "You two broken up?"

Gibbs hides a testy grin: "No-o." He clears his throat again and she peers up at him: "You see, you can't actually break up with someone you're not dating in the first place. We've only ever worked together."

"You _work _together?" she repeats skeptically, raising both eyebrows at him.

"That so hard to believe?" he demands, cocking his head to one side.

"What do you _work on_?" she shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant. She knows Gibbs sometimes works cold cases in his spare time but she always assumed he did it alone --not with a sumptuous redhead at his side, providing him with transport worthy of James Bond.

Gibbs fixes her with a flinty stare. "That's classified," he growls, in a tone that tells her the conversation is over.

She gulps and drops her head, feeling heat taint her cheeks. The air is even more tense than before and not much of their only dance remains. She doesn't want to argue with Gibbs. This is precisely the kind of moment she longed for when she lay awake the other night, trying to fabricate a reason to get close to him. She only has this once in a lifetime opportunity with her unreachable boss -- but instead of savoring it, they are at odds over their respective love lives.

She wants to really _feel _this moment -- enjoy the unusual closeness. She wants to commit to memory exactly how he is holding her, how he smells and how he feels. She wants to luxuriate, body and soul, in the fantasy that is enveloping her in the last few hours before she rounds the corner into the next decade of her life.

Gibbs takes a breath and begins to say: "You know, Kate--"

"Gibbs?" she whispers, shifting closer to him and gazing up at him openly: "Maybe… maybe we could not talk." She searches his eyes for a moment and feels him squeeze her hand slightly. Her eyelashes flutter at the tiny pressure: "Maybe, we could just be quiet…and dance."

His mouth turns up in one corner and he bobs his head slowly, drawing her close. She sighs as she feels him embrace her properly, no sign of the earlier awkwardness or tension that separated them.

Nothing separates them now, not even air. She leans into his larger, taller, broader body, enjoying the feel of him against every part of her body where they connect.

All else fades into the background. There is no chatter, no laughter, no music, no other people, no former boyfriends or future ones, no redheads, no ruined marriages, no desks, no computers, no PDAs, no badges, no bad guys, no age, no time, no obstacles.

There is just Gibbs' heartbeat sounding rhythmically in her ear as she snuggles against his chest unabashedly. There is only his breath stirring her hair, his hand smoothing over her back in delicate circles and his chin resting against her forehead.

It's the best feeling she's had in a long time – maybe, the best she's felt in her entire life.

She lets her arm slither further around his shoulder, holding on tight as her face nestles further into his neck, where she can glimpse his skin at the opening of his shirt and where his distinct smell is stronger and warmer. She wants to hold onto this feeling and this man who doesn't belong to her. She doesn't want to loose this moment in time.

Her eyes screw up tightly and she feels the irrepressible emotion well up in her throat once more. The lyrics to the music penetrate her foggy mind, seemingly written for her and this moment. They increase her heartache and her hopelessness. The song is climaxing, which means soon it will finish and she may never again experience this strange and potent mixture of pure longing and wretched satisfaction and wondrous tenderness for the rest of her life.

She sniffs back her tears and feels Gibbs look down at her. The hand on her back rises to smoothe her hair away from her face. She glances up at him to see his eyes brimming with concern and warmth. He reaches out, gently wiping away the solitary tear skating down her cheek.

The look on his face and the touch on her skin makes her heart jump into her throat and a flush overtake her body. She longs to believe in the signals that his eyes seem to be sending her. Her heart pounds with a tentative, anxious expectation, which she thought she'd all but extinguished.

If she were ever going to make a move, she knows now is the time to do it. If either of them were ever going to take the risk, she knows the moment is passing before them, fleeting and irrevocable.

But all words escape her as she gazes up into his beautiful, lined face. And before either of them can find any, she sees a hand tap Gibbs' shoulder. He turns slowly and she hastily swipes away a few more falling tears as DiNozzo steps between them.

"Hey, Boss," he says smoothly: "Mind if I cut in?"

Kate stares at Tony for a moment, and he flashes her a hearty grin. He was trying to get her to dance earlier in the night and while she appreciates his effort, she finds it difficult to forgive him for robbing her of the last few moments she had with their boss.

Gibbs was the only thing she really wanted for her birthday -- and Tony has just ripped out from under her any chance she may've had with him only two seconds before. Gibbs turns back to her, his hand still on her back.

He gives her a weak smile and mumbles: "Sure…"

She tries to smile back, but feels her lips quiver with pain instead. She drops her eyes to the floor as Gibbs withdraws and Tony steps up, bouncing in front of her eagerly. He holds out his hands with a grin, then, without her permission, sweeps her up and spins her about as a more lively song begins.

From over his shoulder, Kate watches Gibbs' back as he slowly makes his way through the other couples, loosing him in the dim and chaotic scene. And when she returns to her table after two more dances, he's gone.

_TBC…._


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Thirty Candles

Author: Mindy

_Part IV_

By the time he boards the elevator in Kate's building, Gibbs is on his fourth series of second thoughts. He is not used to being impulsive. He is also not used to thinking of anyone other than himself. He must admit… he kinda likes it.

But it has occurred to him numerous times this morning, as he went about his business, that he was taking a crazy and possibily futile risk. Maybe Kate won't appreciate his gesture, understand the offer, he thought. Maybe, she already has plans for her weekend, for her birthday. Maybe, he's really over-stepping the mark here.

But he has set everything up already. It would be idiotic to bail now.

He jangles the borrowed keys sitting at the bottom of his pocket and, once again, reminds himself of why he is doing this in the first place. She cried in his arms last night.

When they were dancing, something hidden – he doesn't understand what – had made her sad. Her eyes, usually bright with life and wit and warmth and beauty, were welled up with emotion and the sight struck straight to his heart. He'd been about to ask her what the matter was – in his gut, he already knew – when DiNozzo interrupted.

Reluctantly, he had handed her over to the younger man and walked away. He'd noticed the reluctance in her own eyes as well and wondered what exactly had stirred up between them in that short, intense moment when they'd danced together.

He turned back, at the fringe of the dance floor, to watch her dancing with Tony, and all sorrow seemed to have been washed from her face. Tony was talking animatedly as he held her waist comfortably, and Gibbs watched as Kate threw back her head and laughed. He could hear the lilt of it above the music and wondered why _he_ hadn't been the one to elicit such a reaction from her.

From the moment he had arrived at the party and spotted Kate, he recognized that she needed some cheering up. But despite a modest effort, he only seemed to exacerbate whatever she had already been dwelling upon.

Apparently, Tony had been a better man for the job. Gibbs couldn't ever remember having the effect on Kate Todd that his more exuberant colleague did. As he pondered it, he realized that, these days, the effect he seemed to have on his female subordinate was to make her nervous or worried or tired or insecure or sad. Occassionally, he made her angry -- but he quite liked her mad; it was a spectacular sight to behold.

Still, as he left her birthday celebration with her laughter ringing in his ears and her sad eyes haunting his heart, he felt a sudden desire to earn one of Kate Todd's happiest laughs. He was sure he could do it. And after a restless sleep, he awoke the next morning with what he hoped was the perfect plan.

Stepping off the elevator, he slowly makes his way down the hushed hallway to her door, carrying a paper tray holding two tall coffee cups. He hesitates momentarily, checks his watch, hesitates again and then knocks soundly.

No answer.

After a while, he knocks again, a little louder. She either isn't home or is suffering a nasty hangover, he tells himself, remembering the druggy look in her eyes the previous night. Briefly considering the time of day, he knocks again, loud and insistent.

"Coming!" he hears her shout in a croaky voice.

A minute later, the latch rattles and the door opens cautiously. A bleary-eyed, messy-haired Kate squints up at him from the narrow opening.

"Gibbs?" she croaks, blinking at him confusedly.

"Good morning," he greets smoothly, offering her a half-smile.

She shakes her head and opens the door fully, standing aside for him to enter: "What time is it?" she grumbles sleepily.

"Six-thirty," he replies breezily, striding past her and eyeing the baggy gray flannel pajamas she wears.

They look worn and comfy, but she has buttoned them unevenly, making the shirt gape at the top and expose a little too much décolletage. He sees her spy the coffees and obligingly hands her a cup of her favorite. She takes a big sip and sighs deeply.

"Is it a case?" she asks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Nope," he replies, taking a drink of his own coffee. "Actually…" he murmurs, ignoring the little ball of nervousness in his gut: "I've got you a present."

Kate's eyes light up: "Really?" she sings, perking up instantly.

Her gaze runs over his figure, searching for a concealed parcel. He grins, enjoying her girlish impatience and drawing out her anticipation for a moment. He steals the coffee from her hand and puts both cups on the bench by her door.

"Go take a look out the window," he tells her softly, leaning in close to her ear and nodding towards the living room where the morning light is already streaming in from outside.

He watches as she clasps her hands together excitedly and scurries over to the window. She sweeps back the curtain, peering up the street and down again. He joins her at the window, standing close behind her and pointing over her shoulder to where his car is parked a short distance away. Hitched onto the back of it, is a small, sleek sailboat.

Kate gasps loudly: "_Really?_" She whirls around to face him, her mouth open and agog, her eyes aglow.

He pulls out the keys and jangles them in the air: "She's on loan," he nods, smiling: "but she's ours for the whole day."

"Gibbs!" she cries, ecstatic and unrestrained, throwing her arms about his neck and hugging him tightly.

He laughs, surprised and pleased by her delighted reaction, and returns her embrace easily, feeling her soft warmth melt against his body.

"Thank you," she mumbles into his collar, her voice a little shaky: "it's the best present ever."

He smiles softly, lowering his head and burrowing into her hair just a little: "Happy Birthday," he rumbles, breathing deeply as they hold each other.

He feels her soften slightly in his arms but she doesn't let go. He is aware that the embrace is lasting a little longer than it should, but he's not sure who's responsible. A sudden awkwardness pervades the air, but it's not enough to make him disengage.

She feels irresistible against him and addictive. He can feel the warmth of her bed on her downy pajamas. He can smell the sweet perfume she was wearing last night on her skin. He wants more of it. He wants more of her.

The same desperate desire and electric euphoria he recalls from the previous night when they danced so close crashes over him, surprising him with it's renewed intensity. Some old and dormant hunger rumbles deep in his gut and his body feels weightless with released emotion.

A long moment later, Kate pulls back, bowing her head and avoiding his gaze as she lowers to her feet, a flush painting her cheeks.

She clears her throat delicately and glances out the window: "What's she called?"

"_May December_," he replies, a little flustered. His friend named it after his new young wife, who's fourteen years his junior and named, coincidentally, 'May'.

"Well, c'mon--" he prompts restlessly: "it's a beautiful day, there's a good wind building. I've got coffee and sandwiches. And you--" he pulls the white cap from his back pocket and fits it on her head: "are the boss today. I'll take you anywhere you wanna go," he promises quietly.

Kate peers up at him from under the rim of her cap for a long moment, a warm smile on her lips. "Thanks Gibbs," she murmurs, her eyes glittering with affection. She lifts up on her tiptoes again and plants a soft kiss on his cheek.

She pulls back, just an inch or so, hovering close enough for him to reciprocate with something more. His hand grips her elbow gently, keeping her in place as she gazes up at him with a hesitant hope. His eyes trace her mouth, his mind racing with possibility and desire, but before he knows anything, she moves in again and places a tentative, tender kiss on his lips.

It's brief but definitely not platonic, a tantalizing trace of lust peeking through her uncertainty. Her lips are soft and spongy and slightly wet pressed against his and he lets himself kiss her back for the merest of moments before she retreats.

They can both feel the residual magic in the air, her eyes drifting over his face curiously, her hand still resting on his chest as he attempts to relocate his voice, reason and equilibrium.

He gets the distinct impression that he is a conquered man. Utterly done for. Not that he really cares.

"C'mon," he urges again after a heated silence, his voice coming out strangled and brittle. He tugs on the brim of her cap playfully: "Get dressed, Captain Todd. We've got all day to--" he glances at her lips and pauses: "celebrate."

"'Kay!" she grins widely, her excitement resurfacing as she turns and bounces towards her bedroom. She stops at the threshold, whirling back around to face him. "And Gibbs?" she sings happily, lolling against the doorframe.

He raises his eyebrows, watching her covetously from the window, something cute and seductive in her pose as she calls back to him.

"That's 'Captain _Katie_' to _you_!" she grins and disappears from the doorway, humming blithely as she begins to dress.

Gibbs smirks secretly and calls back: "Aye aye, Captain Katie…"

_END._

_A/N: Thank you everyone once again for reading and especially taking the time to reply. It's wonderful to get the feedback and share my ship! If you would like to read the sequel to this story it is in progress at the NCIS Fanfiction Archive (at ezyboard) but you need to be over 18 and a member to view it. You can email me if you have trouble finding it. Otherwise, a teen version will be posted here soon. Thanks! M._


End file.
